Tales of Terror and Mystery

           Foronethingitdoesn’tminddamp,andtheweatherlooksasifweshouldbeinthecloudsallthetime.It’sabonnylittlemodelandanswersmyhandlikeatender-mouthedhorse.Theengineisaten-cylinderrotaryRoburworkinguptoonehundredandseventy-five.Ithasallthemodernimprovements—enclosedfuselage,high-curvedlandingskids,brakes,gyroscopicsteadiers,andthreespeeds,workedbyanalterationoftheangleoftheplanesupontheVenetian-blindprinciple.Itookashot-gunwithmeandadozencartridgesfilledwithbuck-shot.YoushouldhaveseenthefaceofPerkins,myoldmechanic,whenIdirectedhimtoputthemin.IwasdressedlikeanArcticexplorer,withtwojerseysundermyoveralls,thicksocksinsidemypaddedboots,astorm-capwithflaps,andmytalcgoggles.Itwasstiflingoutsidethehangars,butIwasgoingforthesummitoftheHimalayas,andhadtodressforthepart.Perkinsknewtherewassomethingonandimploredmetotakehimwithme.PerhapsIshouldifIwereusingthebiplane,butamonoplaneisaone-manshow—ifyouwanttogetthelastfootoflifeoutofit.Ofcourse,Itookanoxygenbag;themanwhogoesforthealtituderecordwithoutonewilleitherbefrozenorsmothered—orboth.

           "Ihadagoodlookattheplanes,therudder-bar,andtheelevatingleverbeforeIgotin.EverythingwasinordersofarasIcouldsee.ThenIswitchedonmyengineandfoundthatshewasrunningsweetly.Whentheylethergosherosealmostatonceuponthelowestspeed.